Survival of the Fittest
by d0ddi0slave
Summary: A teenager is kidnapped by terrorists along with his class, and forced to participate in a deadly game where there is only one winner. Will he survive? [Battle Royale]
1. Introduction

Hello. Before we begin, I'd just like to give credit to the following people for basically co-writing this with me: Slayer, riserugu, Lady Makaze, kiri666yama, Kaishi, Kuze, MismatchedEyes, Elise Aversano, brokenCODA, guitarjack87, Bloody Fists, orangeflamingo, batspleenfriend, Nytedarkness, and Theseus. Yeah, it's a lot of co-authors, but it's a unique format.

Why I'm posting this here is very simple – I've created a character named Adam Dodd, and I'm detailing his journey through a game very similar to Battle Royale, called 'Survival of the Fittest'. I hope you all enjoy it.

-d0ddi0slave

_Huff, huff, huff..._  
How long had Greg Rin been running? Hours, perhaps? He didn't know. Ever since he heard that one kid - armed with a crossbow gun call out his name, he took off running. People were playing this stupid game. People were playing for keeps. Who knew if the crossbow gun kid, too, was playing? Who was really apart of this program, and who wasn't? Greg slowed down his running, getting into a jog. He was _so_ glad about the fact his parents forced him into the track team now.  
"Running fast actually has its advantages, y'know..." Greg spoke aloud. He was, more or less, talking to his pitiful weapon. A fork. A freaking fork. He held it up to the light, watching it shine in the sunlight. "You might look shiny, but you're still just a fork." He fought the urge to throw it away. It might come in handy later, after all.

Hearing the snap of a twig, Greg leapt into the bushes, clutching the fork tightly to his chest. Perhaps that crossbow gun kid _had_ followed Greg after all. Fortunately, that wasn't the case at all. It was just some kid with a _Beretta_, yawning. What was his name again? Kevin? Maybe it was Brennen. Who knew? He was just another one of those stupid, good-for-nothing pretty boys in the class. _If only I had his gun..._  
Brennen (or was that Kevin?), meanwhile, sat down, rummaging through his kit, seeing all the items inside. His gun, a _Beretta_ was off to the side. "This stupid gun doesn't even work." He picked up the _Beretta_, and held it in front of his eyes, pouting. "I bet this whole thing is just something fake...something to teach kids a lesson in life."

_I wish you were right, Brennen._ Greg had already seen the dead body of Christie. There were stab wounds all over her body, and one bullet hole right between her eyes. Judging by it all, it was probably some sort of mercy kill. Either way, it made Greg sick to his stomach just thinking about the fact that she died. This game hadn't been going on for very long and already one person was dead. _No way am I going to end up like her. No way in heck!_ He gripped the fork tighter, his knuckles turning white.  
Brennen yawned again, pulling the gun's trigger again and again. "Stupid thing. Maybe it's jammed." He shrugged. "Maybe all the guns are jammed, and this thing really isn't real." He threw the _Beretta_ off to the side. The gun landed into the bushes, conveniently where Greg was hiding. "Best free my hands for something useful."

Brennen went through the kit once more, taking out a loaf of bread. "These things are as hard as a rock!" He took the time to comment on all the items, ending it all off with his look on a very important instruction manual. "Pfft, everyone knows that no one reads the instruction manuals." He crumbled it up and threw it off to the side. With a yawn, he layed himself down. He was so tired that he didn't notice the figure walk over and pick up the wadded up instruction manual. Brennen held in a breath.  
He let it all out, though, when he saw that it was only good ol' Greg. Good ol' Greg holding...a gun?  
"Greg? Hey, man! ...What're you doing with that? The gun don't ---"  
Greg chuckled to himself, turning off the safety with a click. _Blam!_ He missed, and frowned. _Blam!_ Again, Greg missed his target, sending the bullet into Brennen's lungs instead.  
"...W-why...?" The single word was hardly coherent, for Brennen's choked gasps for air made it seem like Brennen was drowning. If only Greg could tell that Brennen truly was drowning...  
_Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!_ What was left of Brennen soon was long gone. Greg emptied the whole clip into Brennen's head, neck, and shoulders, laughing all the while.

"Because, my friend," Greg dropped the paper wad onto what was left of Brennen's face. The dumb, pretty boy's face looked oddly like Swiss cheese now that it had all the bullet holes in it. Greg laughed, and then went on, "The first rule of this game...the strong will **always** survive. And the weak...well, they'll just always **die**."

**SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST**  
_Only the fit shall survive. So play, and see if you truly are fit to live, or not._

...It wasn't supposed to happen.  
_It was supposed to only be great._  
It was supposed to be a nice plane ride far away, to some exotic island. And at the island, everyone was just going to relax. It was, after all, an end of the year trip.  
_But this was far from a trip._  
The horrendous video... Some kid with a fork running and running, and then hiding out in the bushes. When that idiot threw away the gun, it was all over for him. The fork guy shot him down just like that.  
_Shot him down as if he was playing a vicious game._  
And then, at the end, those dreadful words appeared. "Survival of the Fittest" and that terrible slogan: "Only the fit shall survive. So play, and see if you truly are fit to live, or not." A slogan that would be burned into the minds of many.

_The strong will survive. The weak shall die._  
Why wasn't they putting a stop to this? Mainly because the guards were all armed with guns that they pointed at each of the students. Why they were doing that, no one really knew, because they were all bound tightly to their seats. All the students were pretty much silent, aside from a few kids filled with some false courage whom had cheered on the kid with the fork.  
_False bravery...a wanted trait by many._  
Next, the teachers accompanying the children on the trip were unbound, and forced down onto their knees. The guards were strong, keeping the teachers from struggling as they each placed the muzzle of the guns next to each of the teachers' heads.  
_Blam! Blam! Blam!_  
They were all killed, as easy as that. Their corpses were thrown into a corner, piled on top of each other. Now everyone was quiet, even the kids that had the guts to laugh and cheer at the video. No one made a peep, in fact, quite a few of the children seemed entranced by it all. Their eyes were stuck on the dead bodies of their former teachers. It was probably just shock, or they were hoping this was some sort of nightmare.

_The nightmarish video came on again._  
Their attention was diverted by the sound of a man coughing to gain attention. Now on the big, pull-down screen was a man sitting in a chair.  
"Hello Class-B." He pulled out a lighter, lighting the fat cigar that jutted out of his mouth. "Now, I'm sure you are all wondering about all of this. Wondering and worrying... Hey, how many of you unlucky fools peed themselves?"  
_He laughed. ...The man laughed._  
"Just joshing with all of you pathetic Americans." The man put away his lighter as he introduced himself. "My name is Mr. Danya, although all the pretty girls can call me Danny." He puffed out a ring of smoke. "You all are probably wondering about all of this... Probably wondering about how unlucky you are. To think, just about an hour ago you all could've sworn you were going to some beautiful little trip." Mr. Danya laughed again.  
_That ugly, terrible laugh... The laugh was mocking all of the students._

"Stupid, stupid, idiotic good-for-nothngs." He said through out his laughing fit. He laughed so hard that he nearly swallowed his cigar whole. "...Anyways, after this little video of mine, you all shall be gassed into a simple slumber. It'll probably be the best sleep you'll get during the next few days." He grinned this time to mock them, instead of partaking in his hideous laugh.  
"When you wake up, you'll find yourself on an island. It should be pretty empty...all the dead bodies were cleared out yesterday, anyway. Yet, there may be a few deranged kids from the last game. They're not too bad, though." Mr. Danya shrugged. "Just give them some medicine, and they'll be fine, right?"  
_He was joking around...it was clear he didn't care about the students at all._  
He coughed once more. "So, in short, once you wake up, find safety. Build a shelter and barricade yourself, or something. That's what a few kids did in the last game. Most of them ended up killing themselves. That's what being all alone does to people like this." He pulled the cigar out of his mouth, puffing out another ring of smoke, much to his sickening delight. "Friends against friends...kill or be killed. Yada yada. Whatever you want to put it. The Japanese had a neat little slogan like: 'Could you kill your best friend?' Now, you tell me if you all could do that.  
"Now, if you can't, be sure that your best friend probably could kill you. Some people get lost in it all. Don't feel remorse."

_It's survival of the fittest in a nutshell._  
"Anywho, after doing all that pansy barricade stuff, pick your weapon out of the bag. We've got weapons ranging from butter knives all the way to shotguns. Pray you get a good one. Judging by a few of you, you guys won't be merciful to any kid that gets a cruddy weapon." Mr. Danya yawned. "When you wake up on the island, note the collar. The handbook explains about it somewhat... There has to be at least one person who dies in 24 hours, elsewise all the collars explode. The only time this rule doesn't even count is when you're the last one standing. Even then, what with all the students coming into the island, I'd still be on my toes and be weary of the rule."  
Now, he looked rather annoyed. "You know, I have to talk about this all the time to the new kids. This wastes precious time. It gets me rather mad, you know... Wastes a ton of air. And you know what else I hate? Stupid high school punks like that one guy who get me so mad. Guards, kill the guy sitting behind the girl with the blue hairclip."  
_Bang!_  
He was dead. He hadn't done a thing. Except for wearing his hat sideways, that is. But, even then, that wouldn't really count for anything, right? To Mr. Danya it did. He hated punks.

"Thank you very much, my kind soldiers." The guards' replies to Mr. Danya's thanks were muffled by their gasmasks. "Now, now...it's sleepy time for you fools." With his words, all the 10th grade students of Class-B Barry Coleson High fell into a deep, gas-induced slumber...

_**And to think, when they wake up, they'll be on an island fighting for their lives and nothing else.**_


	2. Appendix A: Profile: Boy 77

**Name:** Dodd, Adam  
**Gender:** Male  
**Age:** Sixteen  
**Grade:** 10  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** Ice Hockey, School Plays  
**School:** Barry Coleson High  
**Appearance:** Adam doesn't look like the atypical sixteen year old, and is almost always being mistaken for that of an 18-21 year old. He stands about 5'11, give or take a few inches. He's in deceptively good shape, as he shares the family gene of being huskier than most. While he isn't skinny, and weighs about 210. He has a full head of red hair, which is more orangey in the light than red. Adam has brown eyes and a goatee on his chin which is also orangey-red. Usually you'll find him wearing a pair of loose-fitting blue jeans and a hockey jersey of some sort, usually a Toronto Maple Leafs one.

**Biography:** Adam is relatively new to BC High, as he originally hails from Toronto, Canada. He's proud of his Canadian heritage, and while not overly patriotic, he usually jokes around that things'd be different if it were Canada. A kind-hearted person, Adam is the type of person who's known by everyone as 'a good guy'. He's quick to laugh and is always trying to cheer other people up. He has legendary self-control, and is often turned to in a crisis, especially at home. The problem that Adam usually faces is that when he loses that self control, he gets incredibly angry and almost violent at times. Adam's a good listener, and he usually finds people (mostly his parents) saying to him: "Well, I shouldn't be telling you this, but...". He's not the type that girls find attractive, and as such has had little to no luck in that area, but most people who meet him feel comfortable around him. Adam has a genuine love for life and while he considers himself an optimist, he sometimes over thinks situations and gets himself down in the dumps. Finally, Adam isn't popular in the usual sense that one would think, but mostly everyone, from the nerds, to the jocks, to the bitches, to the loners know who he is. Very few, if anyone, has a problem with him, and that's the way he likes it.

**Other:** As mentioned before, Adam over thinks the shit out of nearly everything, and that could potentially harm him during this 'competition'. While not a person who could harm anyone else, if his own life is threatened, he will do whatever it takes to come out alive.

**Number:** Boy #77

**Designated Weapon:** Ballester-Molina  
**Conclusions:** Everyone knows him, so that should come in handy when gaining allies. He better keep that self-control, though...who knows what he might do...but, that violent attitude might come in handy, as well (_heh_).


	3. Appendix B: Profile: Boy 22

**Name:** Faust, Hawley  
**Gender:** Male  
**Age:** 15  
**Grade:** 9th  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** N/A  
**School:** Barry Coleson High  
**Appearance:** Somewhat tall, thin and overall lanky, he stands at about 5'5 and around 140lbs. Hawley has a pale, milky skin tone that is dotted by light tan freckles, also on his body are scars from suicide attempts, from his wrists to a large, and rather visible one across his throat.

Standing offset to his pale skin is shaggy red hair, he has two-toned eyes (two different eye colors) one being blue, the other brown, his eyes usually hidden behind thin wired-rimmed glasses. He usually dresses in clothing much to large for his thin form, that are usually dark in color.  
**Biography:** Awkward all around, Hawley has been the target for both physical and mental abuse from his classmates and siblings since he was young. He learning in the end, to play his role as the quiet student, avoiding the others except when he had to be around them. From eating on the roof during lunch to when the class would be in study hall, he would run away to the library absorbing as much information as possible, but after years of bulling from others he usual tactic of skipping school begun to fail when his parents were contacted about this. So since his seventh grade year, something has been churning deep within him.

The end result from such treatment was suicide, though all attempts thus far have ended in failure. He finding himself unable to cut any deeper wounds than those that could just leave scars, never unable to just end it all.

But after having a run-in with the school's soccer team, he came home... lip busted, and nose bleeding threw his school bag to the floor and made his way into the kitchen where he picked up one of the steak knives they had and made his way into the second-floor bathroom.

The first cut was enough to send himself to almost black out, but holding himself from passing out he pressed his blood stained knife against his throat lightly pressing in to cut the skin, but when he was ready to drag it across for the kill. One of his older brothers came acorss him and tackled the knife from his hands.

After being brought to the hospital, and giving time to heal his stepmother put him in a mental hospital for three weeks, his hatred for the world and the people who wronged him scarring him even deeper than those scars visible on his body as he was there. But around those who don't know of his thoughts, Hawley continues his quiet boy act. Performing his role in for the world…

His family life is no better than the one at school, he at the moment living with his father, stepmother, and four half-brothers, Matthew, Benjamin, Robert, and Douglas. Before Hawley was born his father had recently moved to New York state, and began working at a new recently built hospital. There he met one of the nurses, Lillian.

Sometime later, it became clear that his father had not been faithful to his wife when he returned home one day with a small bundle in his hand. He explaining to his wife, Abigail that this was indeed his son and dear Abby refusing to expect the small baby as anything but a bother and proof of her husband's cheating on her having kept this feeling through his whole fifteen years of life.

Hawley has never met his real mother, though does remember a woman with the same shade of bright red hair as his come by thier house one rainy day only to be thrown out by his stepmother, not knowing that this was indeed his real mother (he having grown up believing that his stepmother was his real mother) till he was 12, and he conforted his father of a picture he had discovered of the same woman.

So even in his own family - he feels like an outcast.  
**Other:** Killing might not be a problem for him, seeing that none of these people where ever his friends to begin with. His low blood pressure attacks, and prone to dizziness could become an issue, his past suicide attempts could come back to haunt him as well.  
**Number:** Boys #22

**Designated Weapon:** Remington 11-87 (Shotgun)  
**Conclusions:** This kid will definately have no qualms about killing the other students. He'll probably be one of the first to completely, and truly snap. But, I don't blame him. He's earned the right to kill the others, and he'll certainly have that right.


	4. Appendix C: Profile: Girl 5

**Name:** Amanda Jones  
**Gender:** Female  
**Age:** 16  
**Grade:** Grade 10  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** Magician, School Plays, Band  
**School:** Barry Coleson High  
**Appearance:** Amanda is a shapely girl, and probably would be the object of many a guy's attraction if it weren't for the fact that she's six foot three. She's probably the tallest girl in the whole school, and this often scares many of the guys off. Her normally black hair is coloured with electric blue highlights, which she wears at shoulder-length. Her brown eyes take in many who meet her gaze, as behind them hides a fierce intelligence. She usually takes to wearing fairly tight jeans or loose cargo pants, depending on the occasion. Her tops generally consist of generic coloured t-shirts, which often generously highlight her 'assets'. She doesn't think of herself in that kind of manner though, simply because she's very rarely had boyfriends due to her height. While her last name is Jones, she is of mixed Asian/Caucasian heritage, and when she makes herself up for parties and dances, can be strikingly beautiful.  
**Biography:** A fixture in the school band, Amanda Jones plays the trombone with gusto. A talented musician, she also is active in the drama program at BC High. The drama program fits her outspoken nature, as she's very serious, yet always has something to say, no matter what the circumstance. She holds a determination not to be the best, but to prove to herself that she can do things - which in her book, means either 150 times better than everyone else, or not at all. She's also been interested in magic since she was very young, and has almost perfected her sleight-of-hand tricks. She usually entertains children at parties, and does that as a part-time job. She's so fiercely determined to be her own person because of who her father is - the vice president of the United States. Everyone knows who her father is, and many have met him, but she doesn't speak of him much. She feels the pressure that being the daughter of an important government official, and she personally hates it. Her father cares for her but is too busy to be a proper father to her, and she often finds herself living on her own. She has a very, very large crush on Adam Dodd, but finds him intimidating because of his relative ease with which he slides through the world.  
**Other:** When Amanda was seven, she was kidnapped and held for ransom. She survived the ordeal, but saw one of the men who was holding her killed in front of her. She was severely traumatized as a result of the incident and whenever she comes into contact with anyone who is holding a weapon and bleeding, she gets almost instantly terrified, to the point that she cannot control herself.  
**Number:** Girl # 5

**Designated Weapon:** Wooden Baseball Bat (with a nail jutting out of it)  
**Conclusions:** The vice president's daughter, eh? Funny how we've got everyone and no one in Survival of the Fittest... I'm sure that she'll meet a lot of bleeding people holding weapons out here. Heh...if she and Adam meet up, and their feelings are mutual we may be able to market them both and show SOTF in a more bittersweet, romantic way.


	5. Appendix D: Profile: Boy 17

**Name:** Lipson, Andrew  
**Gender:** Male  
**Age:** 17 (started school a year late)  
Grade: 10th  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** Presently, nothing, but used to be in the school play and used to be on the hockey team, and was the pool champion for the school.  
**School:** Barry Coleson High  
**Appearance:** Think of what the lovechild of Jason Biggs and Adam Sandler would look like. More of Adam Sandler, though. He's got short brown hair and green eyes. His skin is pockmarked by a bout of acne that he went through a few years ago, that has all healed up. He's not a bad looking kid, in fact some think he's quite handsome, if not a little goofy-looking. He DOES look like Adam Sandler. Usually found in Enyce clothes, with baggy blue jeans and a red fitted cap. He looks like the prototypical rap-obsessed 'wigger' teen.  
**Biography:** However, he isn't. While Andrew does listen to rap and enjoys it, and sometimes finds himself slipping into the rap slang, Andrew's really a normal white guy at heart. Really smart, he was plagued by a learning disability as a child, otherwise he would have gone into the gifted program. He's managed to overcome it though, and does reasonably well in school. While he can be abraisive at times to some people, he can also be a good friend to others. He gets visibly angry when people make fun of his nose, which while being a typical Jewish nose, isn't all that big. He also gets infuriated whenever anyone brings up his ex-girlfriend, who led him on and then cheated on him several times. He hates her with a passion. Lately, Andrew gets upset easily, and has become slightly withdrawn. He'll be looking for his best friend, Adam Dodd, in the hopes that the two can make it to the end.  
**Other:** The reason for Andrew's withdraw was that last year on his birthday, while traveling to a paintball place to go paintballing with some friends, Andrew was involved in a serious car accident that left him without the use of his legs. As such, he's confined to a wheelchair. This likely will be a serious disadvantage to him in this setting. Andrew was not on the plane with the others, but was kidnapped in the middle of the night by the SOTF organizers, in order to give the handicapped viewers someone to cheer for.  
**Number:** 17 

**Designated Weapon:** Mauser M2  
**Conclusions:** A wheelchair, huh? That might become a major liability later on, especially if someone sneaks up on him, or one of the wheels gets stuck in a rut, or something of that sort. Heh...


	6. Appendix E: Profile: Girl 21

**Name:** Shirohara, Madelaine  
**Gender:** Female  
**Age:** 16  
**Grade:** 10th grade  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** Writing club and archery club(of previous school), Swim club (current)  
**School:** Barry Coleson High

**Appearance:** Madelaine possesses a slim form that is slight of frame and petite, yet stands tall with a strong stature, thanks to the fact that she is part-caucasian. Being somewhat tall for her gender and her age, her height has often caused her to stand out, particularly among girls. However this has become a lesser case now that she has transferred to America. She tends to keep her dark brown hair pulled back into low, unkempt ponytail pinned down with a thin, red ribbon. Bangs cut into a fringe curl inwards, framing her face, as do the forelocks curling slightly towards the inside of her face. Madelaine's facial features are soft, yet well defined, making her appear somewhat childish, yet mature at the same time. Her dark eyes almond shaped, and rounded, framed by eyebrows that are angular and form a rather narrow curve, giving her a stately appearance. However, her rounded eyes and small mouth betray her age, hinting a bit of childishness, but making her seem good-natured. There are some who have often speculated(not that they would mention this in front of her) that she appears to be either a childlike adult, or an adult in a child's form. Due to time spent on the swim team, her skin is currently tanned.

**Biography:** Madelaine was born to a Japanese mother who married an exchange student from America while still in high school. It would be easily to conclude that the couple, though they believed that they were ready to raise a family, were in fact unprepared to meet the needs of a growing child. Beginning at a very early age, Madelaine learned to fulfill her own needs and look after herself. By the time she reached the age of thirteen, she began to feel as though she was the only 'true adult' in the house next to her well-meaning, yet inexperienced parents. Oftentimes, it was Madelaine who had to look after her parents, encouraging them to be more responsible. There were times when she seemed more like a sibling or a colleague rather than a daughter. As a result, her own needs and wants were set aside. This was even more pronounced when her sister was born, as Madelaine had to put some of her own time into looking after her new sibling, whom she loved dearly. Because of her efforts, the family managed to stay together and pull through difficult times.  
Outside of family life, Madelaine stood out among her schoolmates as a cool, confident, yet dependable person who seemed to be at a higher level of maturity than most. She could easily be described as the type of person who would 'keep to herself while looking after others'. Indeed, though she always seemed to prefer being alone, she always felt inclined to lend a helping hand when needed, giving advice, settling disputes, protecting her fellow schoolmates from those who would bully others.   
During her time spent as a junior high school student in Japan, Madelaine (often addressed as Shirohara-san) worked hard to perform well in school. Thanks to her parents, she excelled in both English and Japanese easily. However, she possessed a passion for writing, and put most of her energy into the writing club she had joined in 7th grade. It was around that time that Madelaine adopted the habit of carrying a pocket diary, where she would be able to put her thoughts and musings into writing. She has held onto it ever since, and through the toughest of times, it has been a source of solace for her as well as venting her unapparent frustration at certain things.   
She also put time into the archery club, though it remained a lesser priority to effort spent into working for the writing club(such as helping compiling and publishing the school analogy). During this time, she developed a keen eye and a skill in marksmanship, but never thought much of it as being practical (bit of a shame, no? ).   
Once Madelaine graduated from junior high school, her family moved to America, and so Madelaine transferred to a new school. To her dismay, there was no writing club available, but still found satisfaction in continuing to write in her pocket journal. She also joined the swim club, as she had taken lessons at an early age. Madelaine was able to cope with her new surroundings somewhat easily, since she was familiar with the English language and speech.

**Other:** Madelaine is democratic and level-headed, preferring to act defensively rather than show outright aggression. However, due to her circumstances, she knows that she'll have to kill to protect herself. At the very least, in a confrontation, she'll warn the hostile party to back off or else she'll have no choice but to kill them. She will not kill indiscriminately, but will not trust easily either. However, she may at times feel compelled to look after those who are helpless or cannot look after themselves, since she is used to taking care of and protecting others. Though she realizes that she has little chance of surviving, going down without a fight will not be an option for her. For Madelaine, her goal is not to survive and win, but simply to live as long as she can, in order to preserve a sense of living. Subconciously, she wants to help at least one other person live as long as is humanly possible in this game of survival.  
While Madelaine does not trust easily, she is in fact honest, loyal and good-natured towards the people she does trust. Having spent most of her time focusing on her studies and taking care of her family, she has had little time to explore and experience 'the outside world' as we know it. She also believes that despite what may be happening right now, people are still good at heart. (to some degree at least) However, once she trusts someone, she tends to be naive in believing that they will do her no wrong in the future.  
Along with other personal effects, Madelaine has brought along her pocket diary, a pen, and a photograph of her family. Should she become frustrated or desperate, her pocket diary will probably be the sole means of preserving her sanity.

**Number: **Girls #21

**Designated Weapon:** Tire Iron  
**Conclusions:** I have a feeling that G21 will be writing a lot in her pocket diary... Hopefully, she doesn't wrongly place her trust in someone that'll kill her in the end. I have a feeling that someone might backstab her.


	7. Appendix F: Profile: Boy 18

**Name:** Jackson, David  
**Gender:** Male  
**Age:** 16  
**Grade:** 10th grade.  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** Baseball team, pitcher.  
**School:** Barry Coleson High  
**Appearance:** Not the tallest kid in the school at 5'11, David has red hair and blue eyes. Not very muscular, David has more of a lean and sleek build than that of a professional bodybuilder. His skin is heavily tanned since he spends so much time in the sun.  
**Biography:** David was an avid baseball fan from an early age, as both his parents were fans of the sport and raised him into it. His father taught him most of what he knows about the sport, and basically gave him the lifelong dream of playing professional baseball for a team. David played his first baseball game at the age of seven and was quickly addicted. By 12, he could hit just about any pitch and strike out almost every other batter in Little League. His skill in hitting small things was not completely demonstrated on a baseball diamond, but on a California beach where he and his family went on a vacation when he was 14. When there, his older brother went surfing and was attacked by a Great White shark. Not thinking of his own safety, David went into the water, swam at the shark who had his brother in it's jaws, and ripped one of it's eyes out, effectively freeing his badly injured brother. Of course, he'd rather not talk about that event, but it made an impact on him nonetheless. At Barry Coleson, he joined the baseball team to a high degree of success. Of course, he wasn't expecting the SOTF act to dash his dreams of playing major league baseball to the ground.  
**Other:** Is very accurate with thrown objects or hitting small targets due to his time in baseball.  
**Number:** Boy #18

**Designated Weapon:** Smith & Wesson .357  
**Conclusions:** Heh, shame he didn't get the baseball bat... Since he's quite accurate, I wouldn't really want to mess with him. If he gets his hand on the bat, he'll be a powerhouse for sure.


	8. Appendix G: Profile: Boy 3

**Name:** Shinwrath, Alan  
**Gender:** Male  
**Age:** 16  
**Grade:** 10th grade.  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** N/A  
**School:** Barry Coleson High  
**Appearance:** Has a slight tan that clashes with his blond hair, but compliments his brown eyes. Of moderate height and weight (about 5'9 and 100 lbs.), he is thin, but not wiry, and strong, but not bulky. Has two scars on his right hand from accidentally slicing his hand on a rusted broken pipe years ago.  
**Biography:** Born to an old Scottish family that moved to the Americas during the colonial period, Alan was raised with old-fashioned values mixed with new-fashioned ideas. His father was a strict religious man and homosexual-hater (aka: homophobe, even though that technically means fearing homosexuals), and he raised Alan to these ideals, training Alan to hate those who walked the path of homosexuality with a feirce passion, while honing his body to punish them. His cousin taught him the "sweet science" of boxing, along with a philosophy of "an eye for an eye", a system of belief that makes him retaliate viciously to those who wrong him. When the "plane incident" occured, he thanked Mr. Danya under his breath for the opportunity to punish his classmates, especially those who's sexual orientation differs from his own.  
**Other:** Alan is practically the definition of a homophobe, mostly due to the influence of his father.  
**Number:** Boy #3

**Designated Weapon:** Brass Knuckles  
**Conclusions:** Ah, wasn't it very fortunate that he got _that_ weapon of all things? He's going to be a game motivator for sure, judging by the amount of homosexuals in the SOTF ACT.


	9. Appendix H: Profile: Boy 14

**Name:** Starr, Jacob  
**Gender:** Male  
**Age:** Turned 16 on the day of the trip  
**Grade:** 10th grade.  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** N/A  
**School:** Barry Coleson High (what state is BC high in anyway?)  
**Appearance:** Very plain face, slick black hair, blue eyes, tall for his age, about 6'1. Muscular, but not to the point where he can't move because of his muscles. He's also rather light, only weighing 187 pounds. His eyes are naturally tilted (mostly due to his eyebrows) to the point where he appears to always be glaring at someone or something.  
**Biography:** Jacob was born to a middle-class family, and into a comfortable life without the corruptions of the rich. His father was a police officer that applied for the Federal Beaurau of Investigation, but was injured during training and could not continue. From an early age, his father trained him in some martial arts styles, boxing, grappling (refusing to use the term "wrestling"), and delved slightly into firearms. When in school, his cold, detached manner at first attracted bullies who assumed he was mentally deficient. They were badly mistaken, and withdrew as soon as Jacob threatened them. Of course, having a strong sense of justice rendered him into somewhat of a loose cannon as well. This feeling about him heightened when he once saw a weaker student being bullied by two stronger ones. His reaction was violent to say the least, both bullies where hospitalized. He somewhat escaped punishment by the fact that he reacted in self defense (he only asked them to stop, the two students attacked first in terms of physical attack). The ones that do not fear him from witnessing his attack on those two either hate him, respect him, or leave him alone entirely. On the plane, he had fallen asleep shortly after takeoff. Safe to say he was in for a rude awakening...  
**Other:** Smarter than many would assume, he is far from all brawn and no brains. He rarely speaks, and only does so when he feels it is of the utmost importance, or he's irritated into speaking. Even though he is confident in his skill (maybe because of it), he usually dismisses combat, and those who try to start fights with him. He feels that those who would kill without reason are, to quote him, "Idiotic beings who have no point existing on this world." and believes that, as wastes of humanity, they should be exterminated.  
**Number:** Boy #14

**Designated Weapon:** Combat Knife  
**Conclusions:** The strong and silent type, for sure. B14 seems as if he wouldn't have too much problem killing a fellow student. The fact that he's so quiet, will probably scare a lot of the competition away from even getting close to him, meaning he probably won't even get a chance to use his knife to really slay the competition.


	10. Appendix I: Profile: Boy 7

**Name:** Garraty, River  
**Gender:** Male  
**Age:** 15  
**Grade:** 10  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** Hockey, biking.  
**School:** Barry Coleson High  
**Appearance:** River's appearance is probably the most organized thing about him. Even though he tends to slip behind in other areas (grades, for example), he always makes sure that he looks presentable. His sandy brown hair is neatly combed back aside from being slightly gelled up in the front so it stood up on end. His greenish-brown eyes give off an intimidating look; he's had practice with that from all those years of hockey. He doesn't like to give this information away, but he is missing his very back top-left molar due to having it shattered by a rough blow from a puck. He is an average sized boy, slightly tall, but not so much that he towers over his classmates. He has an athletic build, and is fairly muscular, but he's still no bodybuilder. His legs are more muscular than his arms due to years of biking and skating, his arms would probably be one of his weaker points; he's only really used them to swing a hockey stick. He usually wears casual clothing, a T-shirt, perhaps with the logo of some band or a popular sports brand, and some blue jeans that might have a few holes in them. On the day of the trip, he was wearing his hockey jersey(he's number 43) and a pair of blue jeans that are fairly new with a few ruffles around the bottom. He brought two changes of shirts and one more pair of blue jeans, an older, faded pair with the knees worn out.  
**Biography:** River was born into a nice, upper-middle class family to a mom who is a journalist for the local newspaper and a father who is an engineer. He has one brother, two years older, and a sister who is one year older. Being not only the third child and the youngest, he was often teased for being the 'baby' of the family and grew very competitive with his brother and sister at an early age. His brother was bigger and tougher than he was and often spent two hours at the gym every day. Despite having such athletic potential, his brother was a rebel at heart and didn't do much of anything but hang out, party, and play video games.

His sister always got straight A's on her report card and despite his brother's reputation when he entered High School the teachers had high hopes for him based on his sister's reputation. He felt rather insecure, as much as he liked to compete with his siblings he just wasn't into studying all night and giving up pretty much everything else in order to keep a very high grade average as his sister was. He began to feel as if the teachers were marking him harder because he let down their expectations and went through a period of brief depression before he requested his parents switch him to a different school, which is how he ended up in Barry Coleson High.

His grades still weren't stellar, mostly B's and C's, but he was happy as not much pressure was put on him, in fact, he was sometimes even congratulated on his grades! His main focus wasn't school, however, he spent most of his time thinking about the out of school hockey team he was on and has been on since age 8. River Garraty, number 43. He put a heavy emphasis on his performance in this sport, and most of his friends were also his teammates. This cost him a little as he didn't go out of his way to make new friends in school, but he didn't really care, he didn't want to hang around that place much anyways. A few of his friends also introduced him to biking, an activity that was second to hockey but he actively pursued when it wasn't hockey season.

He had a mixed opinion from his peers, some admire him for his athletic ability, some find him a funny, cool guy, some ignore him, and some despise him for being a 'stupid jock'. The girls especially are varied towards him; he is quite the stud and goes out of his way to impress the ladies. However, he tends to think of himself a being better than he really is, and though some girls find him cute for it some want to give him a good slap in the face for it.

He usually was uninterested in school trips or other activities, though this end of year trip seemed quite interesting. He'd get the chance to leave a good last impression on some girls, perhaps score a summer date or two? He loved flying as well, though he rarely ever got to do it. Of course, as usual, he was confident that nothing could go wrong…  
**Other:** N/A  
**Number:** 7

**Designated Weapon:** Plastic Hammer  
**Conclusions:** ...His weapon. It's...hilarious! (_I can't stop laughing about it._) Shame he had to get that weapon of all things. If he had gotten something good, then he probably would've been a contender, seeing how athletic he is and suchandsuch. (_Heh..._)


	11. Appendix J: Profile: Boy 1

**Name**: Rommel, Edward  
**Gender**: Male  
**Age**: 16  
**Grade**: 10th  
**Extra Curricular Activity**: Archery, Art  
**School**: Barry Coleson High  
**Appearance**: An average looking boy, he has auburn shaded hair that falls about his face though shades of orange, red, green, and purple are somewhat visible from dye attempts. He usually wears clothes that are large on him, and is usually always wearing his favorite jacket. A black one, that has a large '13' on the back with the word 'Unglück,' the German word for Bad Luck. His hands and arms are usually covered by designs he drew in pen from all the random thoughts that go on in his mind. Edward has a bright shade of blue eyes, though his right is a somewhat duller shade almost gray as he has been completely blind in this eye since childbirth.  
**Biography**: Edward (though he prefers people to call him by his last name, he hates his first) comes from a very lovely home, he was born to a American mother, and a German father and was raised in Germany as both his parents worked there. He's mother as an English Language teacher at the local high school, and his father gave private music lessons. When he was 3 he took witness to a childhood friend of his death when the other young child drowned, soon after that Edward was diagnosed with autism, which a complex developmental disability a neurological disorder that affects the functioning of the brain. Autism impacts on the normal development of the brain in the areas of social interaction and communication skills, so he was troubled in verbal and non-verbal communication, social interactions, and even in his actives because of it. It's almost like he was trying to push away the outside world, and simply live within himself. The smallest outside contact able to upset him, Though as he became older becoming a part of archery, and art as well as his medicine has helped him control the disability a little better...

He was transferred to BC High at the end of his freshmen year. Though he knows English very well, he has a habit of sometimes either slipping back into German, or mixing the two languages when talking. Though he only talks when spoken too, he avoids eye contact with people, and hardly smiles most of this and others that set him apart from his fellow classmates is because of his autism. Though most just figure him for stupid, but he isn't and gets good grades on his work. He just doesn't know how to interact with others, and finds talking to himself a bit easier.

A part of his autism is that he affected by Sensory Integration Dysfunction. Most being having an over-sensitivity to the sense, such as touch, movement, sights and sounds. Edward is the opposite in that he has under-sensitivity in all those, this includes pain, a prime example being when he fell down the stairs at school and busted his head open when he landed. He simply stood, and walked away as if nothing had happened...

He is a very impulsive person in nature, and usually doesn't think things through before doing them. But he's a nice person none-the-less, and would never think badly or do something to harm anyone. Though as his emotions are always on edge from the autism and the medicine he is forced to take. Edward has been known to show a completely new personality though it if he doesn't take the medicine… one that isn't as understanding and kind as Edward's true self is.  
**Other**: Only having a limited amount of his medicine could prove bad in the long run, as his emotions seem to go on the haywire when he hasn't taken it. His under-sensitivity could prove as much as a gift, as a curse, as he can't feel the pain as much as a normal person, all his senses are also suffering this and without good sight or hearing could make things hard on him.  
**Number**: B01

**Designated Weapon:** Pepper Spray  
**Conclusions:** Since he doesn't have his medicine, he might aswell be labeled as insane. It might be a blessing to have that under-sensitivity later on...although it would be scary to his opponents, for sure. (_I can just see it now... Ah, zombie boy! No mere bullet takes him down!_)


	12. Appendix K: Profile: Boy 29

**Name:** Eno, Blaine  
**Gender:** Male  
**Age:** 16  
**Grade:** 10th  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** Track, Band  
**School:** Barry Coleson High  
**Appearance:** He holds a very sleek, uniformed appearance… but with a touch what you could call punk thrown in. His black hair lays in a straight, somewhat uneven, messy pattern as if he just got up out of bed; though he usually covers the hair by what's called a flower-pot hat most of the time. Blaine stands at a medium height, though somewhat underweight for a boy his age; his most defining feature is probably his long legs, which are prefect for track. He always carries a somewhat lazy look to him; one of those 'I-just-don't-care-now-fuck-off' kind of looks.  
**Biography:** When you're born into a wealthy Swedish/Russian family, with prefect parents that could give you whatever you wanted you figure things could never go wrong? The bitter sweetness that fills his life… in his first seven years of life Blaine lived that prefect, rich kids life where he was protected from everything that could go wrong in the world and that could spoil his soul, and heart into something dark and unnatural.

And sometime during that time when he was seven, he took witness to something that would scar him for the rest of his life. It had been known about the city of Stockholm where his family lived that his father was quite interested in any beautiful female that walked within range of him and his wallet. And after many nights of his mother being greeted at all different hours of the night, or sometimes he not returning till late the next morning of his father coming home drunk, and disheveled. She finally decided to stay up one night, and awaited her husband to come home with a Luger 7.65-mm handgun with her…

By the next morning the headlines where filled with the story,_ 'Sjoblom Company Heiress, Margoet Eno Charged with the murder of Husband, and his Mistress' _at the time Blaine didn't understand why his father wouldn't wake up, or why his mother was being taken away from him. He was sent to live shortly after with aunt and had continued to live in Stockholm, but by then the damage was already done. By nine he had gained an issue of sorts, torturing his pets they most of the time dying in the end from such punishment... not seeing this as something bad, after all his mother had hurt his father.

At thirteen he now finally understand the scene he witnessed that night long ago of his mother riddling his father, and the woman with him with bullets still played in his mind over in his mind as if it had happened only yesterday... it burning a deeper hole of depression.

And being that this isn't the most everyday thing to befall the city, the stories, and rumors flew about and grew as he aged on. And by the time he reached middle school it was quite clear that some of the other children enjoyed picking on the young boy for what had become of his parents. And so Blaine became a sort-of juvenile problem, nothing big at first becoming a problem at school. Being caught smoking, or drinking on campus, graffiti, just small things that usually just ended with him detention.

But during his eighth year of school, something in him… just snapped for lack of a better term. The years of mental torture placed on him because of the faults of his parents finally pushed him to the point of him bringing a knife to school. Now, truth be told, Blaine has always seen killing as a wrong deed, and when he attacked some of his fellow classmates he didn't he wasn't aiming to kill simply to torture like he had done with his animals long ago… the fact one almost died he didn't see as his fault. In fact he didn't see any of it as his fault and proclaimed he actually enjoyed the act, having sung the whole time.

_"A painless lesson is one without any meaning – they gave me my lesson on what fools my parents were… it was their turn for their lesson now. I came through mine okay. It just shows how weak he truly was to almost die. Pathetic."_

After the incident, his aunt managed to talk (and pay) the police out of putting him into a detention center, but shortly after that threw him into foster care stating she only saved him from the center because of a promise he made to his mother. Some months after his fourteenth birthday he was adopted to a nice American couple and he soon found himself with something he hadn't had in years – a family.

He started BCH at the start of his tenth grade year, and quickly found place on the track team becoming one of the better runners on the team. And though his track stardom made him known around school, he truly doesn't have anyone he could called a friend. He prefers himself over all others. Blaine is also one of the many students in the musical program, having during his time in Stockholm, he was taught the saxophone and kept in up when he begun learning at Barry Coleson, he finding music a way to soothe his darker thoughts, and those of his past.  
**Other:** To sum Blaine up easy is one of those interesting kids who prefers the rain over sunlight, being alone compared to being in the arms of company, and loves his show tunes, and most songs for that matter (his favorite being 'One') As he has such a horrid habit of singing them whenever one comes to mind, grinning while he does. As mentioned he sees killing as a wrong deed, but torturing someone is a whole different story, ever since the incident at the middle school he's enjoyed the sounds of pained screams. If they happen to die in the process, he doesn't see it as he killed them. Blaine sees it as a weakness on their part, and if they couldn't handle it deserved death anyway. And he just won't do these attacks at random, oh no, he thinks these things out... finding the prefect one is the most important thing first.

Also, oddly enough, Blaine is quite far from being entitled as insane. His aunt, before getting rid of him to foster care, took him to enough doctor to disprove this and state that he as fine as any normal boy his age -- a horrible thing just happened in his youth is all.  
**Number:** B29

**Designated Weapon:** Piano Wire  
**Conclusions:** Ah, another one of those infamous psychopath kids. One can never have enough of these in the _SOTF ACT_, huh? I have a feeling that this one will get a lot of kills because of his apparent insanity. My gosh was his doctor stupid for not placing this guy in the insane asylum.


	13. Appendix L: Profile: Boy 11

**Name:** Marcus Roddy  
**Gender:** Male  
**Age:** 16  
**Grade:** 10  
**Extra Curricular Activity:** Wrestling, Football, Lacrosse  
**School:** West Grove High, OH  
**Appearance:** 6-4 260 A large body ripped with muscle accents his strong looking African American features. He has a pronounced chin and hair wrapped in corn rows on top of his head.  
**Biography:** Born to Jamal Roddy and Serena Roddy in Cincinnati Ohio, He was raised from an early age to be a sports machine. His father played pro football for a short time for the New York Giants, and wanted to see his son excel in the sporting world. Marcus's father started his workouts at an early age, and Marcus soon became the strongest person on his pop Warner football team. He was moved up to the 13-14 year old league when he turned 9, and became the best running back in Ohio Pop Warner history. As a freshman at West Grove, he played Tight End (22 catches for 413 yds, 3tds), Running Back (108 carries for 1,286 yds, 8tds), and Middle linebacker (106 tackles, 26 sacks, 4 interceptions) He was named to the Ohio All-state team, and as a sophomore, was named to the second team All-America. He was kidnapped by the SOTF terrorists for one reason, to throw the betting lines off. Terrorists need to make a living too, you know.  
**Other:** Marcus was made to train 5 hours a day for his future career in football, so he is extremely physically fit. He also did wrestling as training for football, so he has some experience in close combat. He has a stutter and a lisp, so he usually does not talk, but he is actually quite intelligent. The SOTF terrorists expect him to kill everyone in sight (and plan on making a lot of money on him as well, hoping he kills some major competitors) because he has so much to live for. He may, or he may not, only time and the situation will tell  
**Number:** 11

**Designated Weapon:** Harisen (Paper Fan)  
**Conclusions:** Darn...my money definitely would've been on this guy until...well, he got the paper fan! Not even B11 can kill someone with a paper fan, I don't think. Anyways, good luck to him...so much for making a ton of money off of marketing Marcus.


	14. The First Announcement

**THE FIRST ANNOUNCEMENT**

"Mr. Danya, sir...don't you think it's time for the ---"  
"Hush, darn you. The speaker's on." Mr. Danya paused to clear his throat with a loud _ahem_. "Hello lucky duckies. Having fun with the game? I know that Boy 22 certainly had fun killing off G06...shotgun fun, eh?" He laughed, remembering the scene perfectly. The struggle, the girl's will to live even when she got shot, the cutting of B22 with her pitiful hacksaw. Mr. Danya laughed once more, that hideous, sick laugh. It sounded exactly as it did on the airplane...only, this time it was all the more twisted.  
"Alright, alright, enough of that. I'm dissapointed in all of you, though... Only two kills! Do better!" He sounded angry now, how different from his light-hearted, mocking voice. "I'm angry now, so I am going to state some Danger Zones. The School Building, and the Bamboo Coppice." He laughed into the mic once more. "I hope you all read the Handbook. Danger Zones are _dangerous_. Linger there too long, and we shall gladly transmit those awful radio transmissions to your collars and..." He paused for a dramatic effect.  
"**KABOOM!**" This sent him into a roar of continuous laughter. "Anyways..." His laughter died down quickly. "Here's the list of your dead friends. Shame that there were only two...  
**G06 - Helena Van Garret.** Her fight to live was nice and all...I didn't really expect her to live for _that_ long. B22 made quick work of her, indeed. Don't you just love bittersweet endings? The second death was **B13 - Sydney Morvran.** Darn was this guy annoying. I have no clue how he survived the last SOTF ACT...oh yeah, hiding away with his so-called friends like a little sissy coward. I was _really_ tired of his little hippy friend talk. Whatever..." He sighed. "I'm sure that both of their deaths messed things up for some people. G06's death will have a heavy effect on what's her face, and B13's death...well, I think their whole group is pretty messed up. Shame that one girl had to mess everything up so badly. Yeah, you know who you are..."  
Mr. Danya laughed once more. "This is Mr. Danya. Over and out, kiddies!"


	15. Chapter One: E1M1: Entryway

"Oh god..."

The confused mumble was all that Adam Dodd could do to keep from screaming out in pain. The throbbing between his temples was fading in and out at a steady pace, and if there was one thing that Adam hated more than anything else, it was headaches. Ever since he had been little, he had been plagued with side-splitting migraines, pains that would force him down onto the ground and incapacitate him so much so that his parents would have to lift him into bed. It was as such that Adam figured that one day he would eventually go out with a brain aneurysm or something like that, just to do the world some poetic justice as he left.

_Rocks..._

His eyelids tried their damndest to snap shut, as Adam slowly realized that he was not at home in his bed, and not living down the effects of a killer headache. Perplexed, Adam finally forced his eyes open, letting his pupils adjust to the light that flowed in from the sky. Blinking a few times, Adam pulled himself to a sitting position, and beheld the site of the entire island. His mouth gaped open and he took a moment to compose himself.

"What in the hell...?"

_Mister Danya..._

**Oh God.** The events of the past few hours came flooding back to him, so much so that he had to shut his eyes to really believe that it was all coming true. The plane, the video, the senseless murder that Mr. Danya had ordered. Who was the face? Adam didn't know. As his mind formulated its way around his current situation, Adam's stomach took a tumble. Here they were. Simply put, in a glorified game of Last Man Standing. Problem was, these were his friends, for god's sakes. Could he kill them?

Sighing, he pulled himself to a sitting position once again. Adam opened the bag that he had been assigned. Quickly, he looked over the food and water. It would be valuable to save that for later. Next, he pulled out the instruction manual. At this he cocked an eye. He'd have to flip through it, but first he'd want to find out...

_What the fuck?_

In his hands, Adam held (thankfully) what appeared to be a pistol. It did, however, look like an antique. He hefted the old Argentinean pistol in his hands. While it looked as old as perhaps both of his parents put together, he hoped that it would work well if he needed to use it.

_...to do what, to kill someone?_

Sadly, Adam sighed to himself, he may not have much of a choice.

A slight distance behind Adam, a figure was stirring. He had taken longer than most to shake off the effects of the knockout gas, and he groggily rose to a sitting position and rifled through his bag. He stopped when he saw a glint of metal; he did not hesitate to pull it out, and laughed slightly when he saw the set of brass knuckles. "Well, guess I can never have _too_ hard of a punch." he muttered.

He had to admit though, seeing Adam a short distance away, and holding a gun, startled him. He might have a strong hatred for a chunk of the school (either homos or those who treated him like dirt), but Adam was one of the few he respected. Alan definitely wasn't stupid; he had to get Adam to lower his guard. Slipping on the brass knuckles (just in case), Alan walked to Adam and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Nice day for a slaughter, wouldn't you say?"

Startled, Adam twirled around, the gun held firmly in front of him. Dying was not exactly on the top of Adam Dodd's priority list today, especially not moments after he had woken up. To his surprise (although why, he couldn't figure out), standing before him was a classmate of his, Alan Shinwrath. He had taken Science class with Alan the year before, and Adam remembered him to be a pleasant enough, if somewhat opinionated individual.

After Alan's initial comment, Adam relaxed a bit, but then tensed back up. Could he really trust anyone in this fucked-up situation of theirs?

"Heh." Adam forced a slight chuckle. He put on a small smile and hoped that it would deter Alan from killing him, if he had any idea of doing so. 

"It is a nice day...too bad we're not all here under...better circumstances..."

Better circumstances indeed. Adam noted that better circumstances would undoubtedly not have him pointing a loaded gun at one of his classmates. He just hoped that for now, Alan wasn't in the killing kind of mood.

"Indeed. Do not worry, if I wanted you dead, you would be." Alan said with a slight laugh. "Either way, I thought I could make a deal with you. There is safety in numbers, along with strength. If we worked together, not only are we more likely to survive, but we might find a way off this hellhole." Alan extended his hand to Adam, "So, what do you say?"

He hadn't been awake long; the loud voice coming of Mr. Danya had awoken him in time to learn of the death of one of his classmates, and that of a boy he didn't remember. So already his classmates had begun killing, even before he had awaken from the knockout gas that they had over come them with on the plane.

By now… the announcement had ended sometime before and he had yet to move from his lying position against the ground. Slowly though, Edward Rommel's eyes traveled the general are absorbing everything his good eye could see. He laid in what seemed to be a small overgrowth of bushes… of all the places to throw a kid.

Sitting up he found his hand traveling to the shaggy locks of reddish/brown hair that held a many different faded colors within it, all from old dye attempts he had done in the school year just to stand out a bit more. Running his hand quickly through, getting out any of the leaves, and other annoyance from there he soon turned to the two bags lying near him.

One was his messenger bag that held what little of his medicine he had brought with him, and some spare clothes. The other must have been the bag the ugly man must have been talking about – the one that had all of their 'needed supplies to survive' in it. Reaching out, he grasped at the bag dragging it toward him.

Unzipping and digging through he pushed aside his food, and water Rommel's finger soon sliding over a cold metal surface, he bringing out the small black object overlooking it. "Pepper spray?" He muttered lightly, tilting his head to look at the object further. So this was his weapon to murder his fellow students…

Wonderful…

Zipping the bag back up, and pocketing the pepper spray into his pant's pocket, Edward slowly pushed himself onto shaky legs. Pulling both bags onto his shoulder, he happy that neither where very heavy at all. Glancing about, the young man paused briefly at what seemed to be movements, and voices. They must have been close if he could hear them… his autism kept him from having the hearing level of any normal person his age, though he could hear these almost quite well.

Frowning lightly, he wasn't too fond of his fellow classmates to a degree, must figured him for stupid… he didn't see why. Yes he preferred not talking to them, and had been known to talk to himself, but that was only because he didn't know to interact if them, and not feel as though they where laughing at him as he tried.

Stepping forward, green slip-on shoes crunching down on the leaves below he made his way through the thick underbrush slowly. Though as he came upon the scene of the two, though he couldn't tell who at this distance, he'd have to look for his glasses later… he moved forward another step though this time with a something catching his pant's leg, causing Edward to painfully fall over onto the ground.

His upper body lying outside of the under brush, though his one leg remained caught up within it. His messenger bag falling pitifully out before him, the contents of his extra clothes and both almost empty medicine bottles spilling out before him. A light string of curse words, both in English and German, soon following the fall as he started yanking his leg, trying to undo it from whatever it was stuck on. Forgetting about the other two boys not to far away…

Adam grinned at the arrogance in Alan's voice, but didn't let it show. If Alan was serious about finding a way out, he was all for it. He was mindful of the brass knuckles on Alan's hand as he clasped the other boy's hand in a handshake.

"Good plan, man. Sticking together might be our best option right now. There're probably people around here who're just going nuts...scared out of their wits. I know I sure am. Have you run into anyone else yet?"

"No, but I think someone is right behind me." Alan turned to see Edward caught on part of a bush. "It's Rommel, should we help him?" Rommel had been another student Alan had not included on his "kill list" that he had made shortly before the trip.

Adam had to blink in surprise for a second. He lowered his pistol and stuck it into his pants pocket.

"Of course we should!" 

Adam's helpful nature took over as he strode over and bent down beside Edward. He put on a friendly grin and spoke in a calm tone, his voice not betraying his sense of fear at the situation that he and his fellow classmates were in.

"Hey Edward, its Adam...you need a hand, man?"

His struggle against the bush stopped when his ears caught his name, and he soon found himself blinking in an almost surprised manner when one of the boys, who he could clearly see as Adam, bent down beside his fallen form offering help. Edward still wondered lightly to whom the other was, but through his blind eye he couldn't make out anything.

Glancing back at Adam he gave him a goofy grin he was common for showing during school and shook his head, "I'm…" He begun, giving his leg a swift tug as he finally came lose though the fabric of his pants had been ripped about the leg "Fine." Edward sighed as he moved onto his knees, now wanting to get up all his spilled stuff. Quickly shoving everything back into his bag as he went about gathering it…

As this was happening, Alan looked over the map, marking the school and coppice with his pen, as they were designated Danger Zones, if he heard the announcement correctly. The other locations seemed to be fair game, though he did not want to run into someone he could not kill. His plan was basically to help Adam until they were the final two, and then kill him. Even though he respected his fellow student, it was every man for themselves on this island.

Edward finally took a glance toward Alan, eyeing him somewhat before pushing the rest of his stuff into his bag. Moving now to work his onto his feet...

"Have you two seen anyone else?" He asked lightly, though attention began to drift as he had a good look about the island from where they stood. It seemed like a peaceful place... too bad it was probably going to end up being their final resting place.

Adam shook his head. "Nope. The only one that I've seen has been Alan here, and you, of course. Although..."

Adam's eyes drifted over to the lookout point, so that he was looking out amongst the entire island. He could faintly hear gunshots ringing out and screams from terrified students, if he really strained to hear. It was not something that made his ears feel good. He shuddered faintly and then turned back to the other two boys.

"So guys...this is a pretty fucked up situation that we're in here, eh? This...this can't be legal. So this is what I figure we should do..."

Adam paused, checking the area. He then pulled his Ballestair-Molina pistol from the pocket of his jeans.

"...there's got to be other people who're looking for a way off this rock. I mean, if we put our firepower together, we can figure something out, right?"

Edward listened to him carefully; frowning somewhat though nodded anyway. What was the chance there was a way off the island, and if there was what where the chances they'd find it. Eyeing the weapon as it was brought out before them; he could only laugh somewhat at the mention of firepower.

Hand reaching down, he slowly pulled the weapon given to him from his pocket. Rolling it about in his hand somewhat, "Pepper spray." He muttered softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, real fire power…"

Placing the object back in the pocket, he adjusted the bags on his shoulder. "I think I'm going to take my leave now you guys, I gotta find someone... maybe we'll meet up again?"

Alan looked up as Edward left.

"We should go now too. We'll need to keep moving if we want to survive here." he said to Adam as he continued to look over the map, trying to decide their next destination.

Adam nodded in agreement. The way that he looked at it, there was strength in numbers. However...he just wasn't sure about anything anymore. It was life and death that were on the line, and he figured that to take that lightly would be a fatal mistake. He put his hands in his pockets and felt the cold metal of the pistol in his pocket. At least that was some solace, that he was the one with the gun, and not Alan. 

"Feel free to lead; you're the one with the map. Maybe we can find some other people who're feeling like escaping this godforsaken place...?"

"There's a house not too far from here." Alan said, studying the map intently. "No, to get there from here, we'd have to pass through the coppice. That's a danger zone. Wait, there's a hospital just a few yards eastward." Alan raised one arm to point east. "If we can avoid other players long enough, we could use that as a hideout until we've formed a plan."

Adam's eyebrow rose at the mention of a hospital.

"Might be a good idea, we could maybe pick up some supplies, presuming that there's anything left."

Feeling a cool breeze against his neck, he reached up and rubbed the back of his head a bit. His earlier headache had all but gone away, and the high altitude was making him a little dizzy.

"Yeah, man...let's do it. Lead the way."

"Alright. Careful though, these paths are very narrow, I almost fell when I went to you earlier." Alan said, moving carefully down one of the paths that lead to the hospital.


	16. Chapter Two: Terrible Aim

After roughly half an hour of travel, Alan and Adam arrived at the hospital. It seemed empty, but Alan knew he had heard gunshots near here back at the Lookout. "Move quietly but swiftly and get to that door. Remember to keep your head down." he told Adam as he crouched and went up to one of the walls.

Adam removed the Ballestair-Molina pistol from his jeans and crouched down. Shimmying over to the wall, he slowly made his way along the wall until he came to the door. He looked over at Alan, and then took a second to examine his pistol. There was no discernable safety mechanism that would prevent him from firing, nor any sort of trigger locking device. Adam hefted the pistol and hoped against hope that he wouldn't have to use it. He nodded to Alan, and reached his hand over, knocking on the door with a loud bang three times.

"Hello? Anyone inside?"

"Didn't I say to be quiet?" Alan whispered. "Judging from the sounds we heard earlier, there's a player in there, with a shotgun. Do you want that in your face? Either way, there should be a back door, I'm going around to check." with that, Alan crouch-walked around the nearby corner to the back of the hospital, where he looked for another door.

Adam silently cursed himself for his blunder. It wasn't that he was stupid, or that he wasn't street smart. It's just that he wasn't used to running around with his life in danger every second. It then became very clear to Adam that to get away from the door might very well be a good idea. Quickly, he crept over to a nearby thicket that appeared to be obscured from view. Stepping over the bushes, he crouched down behind them, peering at the makeshift hospital building with an interested gaze, wondering what kind of trouble Alan would get himself into.

_You should be around the other side, helping him._

The problem that he had though was that Adam didn't know Alan all that well, and as such, didn't trust him completely. If you could even trust anyone completely at all, he didn't know. But Alan...struck him as kind of funny. As he watched the house, his nose crinkled. There was a rather awful smell that was coming from somewhere around his current position.

_Is that...BO? Damn, I don't smell that bad...?_

Adam's confused thoughts projected onto his face, which made an awfully perplexed expression appear on the young man's features. He looked down at his hockey jersey, and after taking a look around quickly, he gave both of his armpits a sniff. Nope, it wasn't him.

_Then what could it be...?_

Adam scratched his head, and then his gaze drifted back to the hospital, to see if anything was happening with Alan.

Alan didn't find a door at the back, though he saw one on the side as he was returning to the front. Slightly grinning at his find, he put his hand on the knob but the door wouldn't open.  
"It's locked? Strange."

Hawley was jolted from his light sleep at the sound of banging against the door of the hospital's front door, he moving onto his knees somewhat as he crawled toward where the door lay. Running fingers lightly over the now cool surface of his weapon, two-toned eyes narrowing in malice on the door.

Lifting the gun somewhat, he moved to cock a new shell into the chamber, keeping his eyes on the door before resting back against the wall… eyes moving to the other door. How many where here this time? His blood was pumping again as he closed his eyes, breathing becoming rugged as he tried to fight off his bloodthirsty side from coming alive again.

But it slowly failed as eyes reopened, and a grin passed his features as he pointed the muzzle of the gun at the locked door. Faust's heart was loudly pounding within his chest, as fingers were itching to pull the trigger of the gun. If he were lucky… he'd only have to wait a minute. To him it didn't matter who was beyond that door, everyone was fair game to him now. Everyone…

_'And what once seemed black and white turns so many shades of gray.'_

There was no longer a right and wrong to a person, he no longer had a 'list', he only had the sheer power of his weapon and the blood lust in his eyes as he watched the doorknob on the side door jiggle...

Alan continued to rattle the knob of the side door, frustration slowly taking him over. At first he thought of shouting at the person inside to let him in. But by the sound he had just heard that wasn't a good idea. Noting that the sound came from the front, Alan decided to use his brass knuckles for the first time, hitting the wooden door with a brass-covered fist, he made a hole large enough for a hand, then reached through and tried to take the lock off.

Adam crouched in his thicket, watching Alan jiggle the doorknob. His eyes were chased away by a small flicker of movement he thought he saw through one of the hospital windows. Nervously, Adam rubbed his fingers over the inscriptions of his pistol. He watched as Alan plunged his fist through the door with a loud crack.

_That might have been a mistake..._

Adam felt almost compelled to run over to Alan and persuade him to leave the area, but like a pedestrian watching a flaming tanker, he couldn't help but stay right where he was, and watch.

And wonder...

_...what the HELL is that smell?_

Smiling in satisfaction as he heard the "click" of a detached lock, Alan withdrew his hand and went to open it, until he saw someone standing right in front of the door through the hole. He did not know who it was, but it was definitely the "shotgun player", as Alan had dubbed him. Going to the side of the door, Alan put his hand on the knob, prepared to throw it open and attack.

His body gave a jump as he saw the hand break through the door, he moving slowly to push himself over to the door. Well whoever it was seemed intent on getting in, sighing somewhat he moved quickly and undid the lock himself, ripping the side door open and lifting his weapon to the face of whomever stood there. Hawley licking his lips without much thought to it as he looked over the person, trying to place the person with anyone he had seen at school.

"Something I can help you with?" He asked carefully, remembering the brass knuckles that had helped them break through the door. "And hands up, now…"

Alan made a clicking noise with his tongue as he shook his head. "Hawley, Hawley, Hawley, is that your idea of greeting an acquaintance? In case you don't remember, I'm Alan, from your social studies class. Well, you got a shotgun, but you're in range of my brass knuckles." the calm demeanor seemed to snap off as Alan swung a brass knuckled right hook at Hawley's head, hitting the shotgun to the side with his left.

Hawley made a loud sound as he felt the metal of the weapon come in contact with his head, fingers coming up to grip at wounded area. As he could feel his weapon knocked from his hands, the metal thudding against the doorframe as he pushed a foot down on it. Kicking it back within the house a foot or so away.

A low growl coming through as his hand moved from his head, to grasp the hacksaw on his belt. Bringing it forth, if anything… this was could some damage at the most if he had to; blood now clearly starting to seep through his hair and trail down his forehead as the moments passed. "Now, now… what do we have here? You're idea doesn't seem much better either." He mused, grinning again as he pressed his hand to the trail of blood, looking over the blood-coated fingers before looking back to Alan.

Alan stepped back to avoid the swing of the hacksaw as he advanced on Hawley. Stepping into the doorway, Alan threw a kick at Hawley's wounded head, mindful of the hacksaw Hawley had drawn.

Hawley stepped back somewhat, his feet slipping out from under him as he stepped onto the shotgun. Painfully falling onto his backside, as inside of coming in contact with his head as he guessed it he was going for, and instead found his wounded leg... namely his swollen knee.

Biting down on his lip to hold back all sounds of pain that wanted to come though, he scrambled and pulled the shotgun into his hands once again. Pointing it up upward at Alan, arms shaking as the pain started to come through fully...

"You can hardly hold that thing, can you? Either pain or fear is affecting your accuracy." Alan said as he stepped forward and into the hospital, so he could step slightly to the side and avoid a blast if Hawley tried to shoot.

"Fear is hardly an issue anymore..." He said hotly, his aim dropping somewhat. As he pushed himself onto his feet, picking up the hacksaw as he limped back toward the counter. Placing both weapons down, as he pushed himself up and onto the counter, sitting down on it as he lightly watched Alan from his perched spot.

"So," he began, licking at his lips again this time at the blood that had tailed down along there. Brown, and blue eyes focusing onto Alan once again. "What brings you here?"

"Decided to try using this place as a place to think up what to do during this act. The guy outside is named Adam; he joined up with me thinking I wanted out. I was going to use this hospital to make plans, pretending to try to find a way off, but we both know the only way off is to be the winner. "Alan said, looking at the bleeding Hawley.  
"When I fought you, I was defending myself, since you shoved that gun in my face. I believe that I can safely let my ally in here?" Alan asked Hawley, never taking his eyes off the man he had been fighting seconds before.

As Adam crouched in the thicket, he was reminded of events a year prior...

_It had been back when he worked at the hospital. A non-paying job, but it was a way that he felt that he could give back to his community, along with getting those dreaded mandatory hours of community service out of the way. It had been like any other day, sitting around the front desk, and waiting for someone to call with an errand to run off to. It wasn't a bad arrangement, and it was enjoyable to say the least. One encounter had left him with somewhat of a churned stomach, and it vividly came back to him in waves._

It had been a relatively normal shift, all things considered, and Adam was transporting a specimen (basically a test tube of blood in a plastic bag) down to the laboratory for processing. As he had stepped onto the hospital elevator after coming out of the fourth floor, he had heard one of the orderlies call for him to hold the door. He recognized the man; a heavily tattooed man named Stu. He was friendly with all of the volunteers, and grinned as he wheeled a large cart into the elevator, obscured by a white sheet. Adam paid it no heed, but as the elevator slowly rumbled down to the basement, he noticed a rather pungent aroma beginning to waft its way around the elevator. It reminded him of sour lemons, and the smell was somewhere in-between rotten eggs and a juicy fart on the pleasantry scale. 

"What's that smell? That's gross."

Stu the orderly chuckled again. "What d'you think it is, bro?"

Adam shrugged, and Stu just laughed. The short elevator ride came to an end, and Stu rolled the cart out from the elevator and down the hall. Adam stepped out onto the dimly lit basement floor, and looked down the hall. He wondered what it could have been...as he strode to the lab to deposit the specimen, the possibilities flooded his head. Mouldy food? Feces samples? As he exited the lab, he couldn't help but try and recall: what was down that hallway?

There were the other set of elevators, health records, the morgue...

**The morgue.**

That was it. It had to be. Adam's stomach churned as he slowly came to the realization that he had shared an elevator with a corpse. 

The realization hit Adam in the present like a ton of bricks. The smell did seem a little like sour lemons, with perhaps some rotten fish thrown in for good measure. Could those smells be one and the same? The sensory recall from a year ago was just not as good as he hoped it would be, but that kind of smell was one that you just don't forget...

...Adam looked to his right, and finally noticed the small trickle of red that seemed to be bleeding out of the bush beside him. His mouth gaped a little, and he hesitated. He had to know.

Moving the bush aside, he quickly found himself staring into the dead eyes of the late Helena Van Garret. The bitch queen of the school. Adam had only passably remembered the announcement, still reeling from the shock of being gassed in the first place.

_Fuck..._

He remembered Helena. Not altogether fondly, as she was quite the super-bitch, as far as things went. Yet she was quite good looking, and had never said a bad word to Adam, as far as he could remember. And to see her, like this...dead...

He stared into her dead eyes, almost as if he were trying to pry the secrets out from within. 

_Wow, so that's what it's like._

Something opened up inside of Adam Dodd, something that changed him. It wasn't a change for the negative, nor was it really a change for the positive. It was just simply change. The urge and pure need to SURVIVE. 

_Respect the dead..._

Adam closed her eyes with his right hand, balancing himself with the pistol in his left. 

_Alan..._

"SHIT!" Adam hissed to himself. He had completely forgotten about Alan and his attempt to gain access to the hospital. Springing back to his original position, he looked quickly around the hospital. The door stood open, and he could see a red substance sticking in flecks around the door. Was Alan...dead? He hadn't heard any gunshots but, _let's be honest_ he thought, _there's more than one way to skin a cat...or to kill a man_.

Looking over at the hospital, he was shocked to see a lone figure sitting on what appeared to be a bench. It didn't appear to be Alan.

_Shoot him...save yourself..._

Adam stood up, and decided that would be exactly what he planned to do. Extending both arms into a firing position, he aimed at the figure sitting on the bench. Carefully, as so not to disrupt his aim, he squeezed the trigger.

The recoil surprised him a lot more than he anticipated it to, and as such he dropped to the ground without even looking to see if he'd hit anything...

He smirked, "Glad to see not everyone on this bloody island is stupid." Hawley mused, shrugging his shoulders at Alan's next question. Adam? Hmm, that name didn't seem familiar; then again he could have had a class with him. Only reason he knew Alan was because he had gotten accepted to take a higher social studies class instead of taking the normal ninth grade level class. "Let him on in."

Reaching over, he grasped a hold of Helena's shirt he had been using to clean his knee earlier. Pressing it against the bleeding wound on his head. "Only reason I shoved the gun in your face was because you put a hole in my door... already had enough problems with people trying to get in today. You two make number five and six... though the other three were a bit more like target practice than anything else. And one... well who cares about --"

His voice was cut off as a burning pain filled his arm, a hissing sound coming from his lips as he looked at the wound. It hadn't done anything bad... a bad scratch at the most. But damn did it hurt, "Fuck." Hawley laughed, sitting back some as he eyed the figure through the door, the smirk keeping to his lips. "This you're ally... one with the bad shot?"

Alan had been so intent on his conversation with Hawley, that he didn't see Adam walk in wit his gun drawn. His concentration was broken by the crack of a gunshot. Dodging to the side, Alan turned around without checking if Hawley was alright.  
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Adam! Yeah, Hawley, this is him."

Adam intently stared at Hawley, his gun still drawn. He spoke to Alan's question, although all the while he stared at Hawley.

"Sorry Alan. Saw some blood and figured he'd finished you off. Nothing against you, but after the little trophy I found outside I have my doubts about the sanity of good ol' Hawley here. I may be a nice guy, but I'm not stupid. Nobody's gonna put a knife in my back while I'm here. Yeah, it's a fucked up and shitty situation we're in, but we've got to make do. Try and find a way out, a way to screw with the system. Killing ourselves is just satisfying those pricks, those assholes out there who put us here in the first place."

Adam looked at Hawley and saw the place where the bullet had scratched his arm. Adam's poor aim was mainly a requisite of him having no prior experience with pistol-like firearms. He recalled shooting rifles with his father up at the cottage when he was younger, but never a pistol.

_I shot a guy..._

Hawley was a guy that he knew by reputation, but not to speak to him. Adam had always felt sorry for the scarred and pale boy, and after seeing him picked on day in and day out just tore the soul right out of him. He had often made attempts to stop some of the torturous bullying that the boy underwent, but often it was to no avail. Hawley didn't know it, but Adam's heart went out to him.

However, that was a different time, in a different place. Adam saw this, and was concerned, as he really didn't know what he would do next. He knew Hawley had killed once before, and probably wouldn't hesitate to kill again. 

"Hawley...you killed Van Garret, didn't you?"

"If you remember the announcement, they said he _did_ ice that bitch," Alan said as he stared Adam down. "And I congratulate him. She was hot, but one major pain in the ass."

Hawley listened lightly to the answer, and found himself laughing again as Adam questioned his state of sanity. He had to admit; since he had woken up he'd been questioning how long it would last. He figured the rope that kept his sanity connected still had a few connected strands left…

Seemed others didn't think that though.

A somewhat dark memory passing through his mind, his father had taken him to the doctor's to question about Hawley's last suicide attempt… wondering if there was something affecting him in his mind besides it being those of the outside world.

_He sat plainly on the cold table, hand reaching up to rub the bandages that covered his throat. It had been over three weeks since he had tried to slit his throat… it failing when one of his older brothers walked in on him, tackling him to the ground and ripping the knife from his hand._

"From the tests… we have reason to believe Hawley could be showing signs of schizophrenia."

Great, now he was crazy. If his father had ever bothered to ask, he would have known that there wasn't anything wrong in his head. It was the outside world that was pushing him off the edge…

As he heard Adam's voice again, he lifted himself from thinking to eye the older boy. Smirking somewhat as he ran his free hand through his hair, smirk growing at Alan's comment. "Found her body did you? Ah… I wasn't trying to hard to hide it that well. But yes, if you haven't guessed, I'm B22. Pleasure..."

"As long as we're talking numbers, I'm boy 3, and I don't know what Adam is." Alan said, his tone decreasing in ferocity.

Adam dropped his guard temporarily and pulled his knapsack from over his shoulder, dropping it on the ground in front of him. There was his number, stenciled on the front of it.

"Apparently I'm boy number seventy-seven...Jesus, how many people did they put in this godforsaken game?"

Adam paused for a second, a thought coming to him.

"Is this even a game...? It's like...Lord of the Flies, but with guns..."

"Lord of the Flies? Sorry, never read that." Alan said, slightly perplexed at Adam's comparison between SOTF and Lord of the Flies.

Hawley glanced back off at Adam, before returning to lightly touching his arm wound. He having placed the bloodstained shirt of Helena's off to the side, twitching in light pain as fingers touched the bleeding wound.

"Suppose that's something to compare this too..."

"It's actually kind of creepy once you really think about it...Lord of the Flies is basically this book in which these kids are marooned on this island after their plane crashes...or ship wrecks, I can't remember which. Anyway, these kids are all of like ten or eleven, really. Like they're small. Some even younger. Basically what happens is they create their own society...but then stuff goes wrong and people start to get hurt. Two of the kids actually get killed. You...you can kind of liken it to our situation. None of us asked for this, we were just tossed here. We have to make do with what we've got...things are going horribly wrong...at least in my eyes. And well, people have died..."

Adam sighed.

"Fuck, I want to go home."

"There are only two ways to do that." Alan commented cynically, leaning against the wall. "Either win the game or find a way to escape, which I doubt will happen."

"Yeah, but the Lord of the Flies kids didn't have these fucking collars, or cameras watching their every move." He made mention, keeping his eyes on the wound. Chuckling at the last statement...

"Don't we all... And I suppose you two plan on saying here for awhile? If so," Hawley began, looking to Adam. "Wouldn't mind closing the door would you? I've had enough damn visitors today..."

Adam felt the tension in the room go down visibly, and his shoulders sagged a faint sigh of relief. Still clenching his pistol, Adam moved over to the doorway and closed it shut. The hole in the door was awkward, yet served as an oddly fitting looking, should someone come their way.

He looked up his two companions and found himself musing silently as to what a motley crew this was. You had Hawley, the kid who looked like life had dealt him a bad hand or five, and who just didn't have any luck, or so it seemed. Then there was Alan, who from what Adam knew of him, wasn't too bad of a guy, but always seemed to speak scathingly of the homosexuals around the school. Adam himself wasn't gay, not in the slightest, nor did he have a problem with homosexuals. And of course, then there was Adam himself, probably one of the most optimistic, non-judgmental people in the school.

A motley crew indeed.

"So...being as things aren't looking too bright right about now...anyone got any bright ideas...?"

He then grimaced, and looked at Hawley.

"Oh, and uh...Hawley...sorry about...like...well...shooting you, and stuff..."

"I don't have any bright _or_ dim ideas, ask Hawley." Alan couldn't help but laugh inwardly. He had originally just wanted to get Adam to trust him enough so he could let down his guard, then he'd kill him and play the game. Now they had Hawley as sort of an ally, at this rate, he'd be heading a fellowship of half the class!

Hawley eyed Adam lightly, a sigh leaving him as he hopped off the counter leg having finally stopped throbbing in pain. Bending down and picking up his bags on the ground before moving back onto the counter. "I haven't bothered with really thinking at all about plans," He admitted quietly, but really what was there to think about? There didn't or wasn't a way off this island besides the one put before them; to kill and personally killing these two still haunted his mind, though he pushed it back.

"Oh, it's no problem." He mused when Adam had gone about saying sorry for shooting at him. "If Alan here hadn't hit me in the head, then got my knee… I might have been the one doing the shooting. And you saw Helena's body; I'm not that bad of a shot I do believe."

"I don't think either of us want to test that theory. I'm lucky I got in the first blow, or I'd have a huge hole in my gut right now." Alan laughed slightly; it was hard for him to believe he wasn't either dead or the murderer of two people by now.

"I was actually going to shoot you in the face..." Hawley mused at Alan, smiling some. "Makes for a better mess, would have got the point across for anyone else wanting to stop by here."

"Heh." Adam chuckled a little. Inside though, his mind was racing. Something was beginning to feel very, very wrong here. Adam resisted every urge he had to jump up and run away, but stayed seated in his chair, making an attempt to join in the banter.

"So guys...a fucked up question I've gotta ask you both...but really come the circumstances, I suppose we're allowed...if you guys could get your hands on one person to ice, who would it be?"

Adam's uncomfortably briefly showed through as he shifted his position, but he then resumed his calm demeanor.

"Yeah, but you didn't, that's what matters, right?" Alan said to Hawley, and then answered Adam.

"Well, probably Hideyoshi Naoji, but that's just a homophobe's opinion. He doesn't pose as much a threat as Jacob Starr, Uriel Hunter, or Jon Tognetti. Strategically, I'd go after one of them first."

"That's right."

At the question though, a thoughtful expression passed over Hawley's face as he placed the shirt against the arm wound now. "Hm. Depends on how many of the bastards I hate are on this island. Already took care of one, August Masbeth is another I remember seeing on the plane. So I suppose if I ever find her, she'll be something worth killing."

His eyes found Alan though at the mention of Naoji, he the only person that Hawley had placed any trust in thus far. "He's not too bad of a person, quite honest... I must admit."

"Good choice. She's not as bad as Helena was, but that isn't a problem anymore. How do you know Naoji?" Alan replied to Hawley, seriously considering the question.

"August was Helena's shadow, not bad really but she never did anything to stop her friends from what they did. And it doesn't help her matters she joined in them from time to time." He muttered lightly, at the mention of Naoji once again he raised a brow. "Had a nice talk with him a couple of hours ago..."

Though if Alan had his sights on him, inviting the boy to stop by if he ever needed a place to stay might not have been the best idea now.

"I see. I knew about the shadow thing, August is uglier than Helena too." Alan mused, trying to keep his guard up while having a friendly (if that term could be used) discussion about the students.

Adam listened intently to the conversation, and sighed.

"There's one bitch that I wouldn't mind putting into the ground...her name's Lesley Douglas...but I don't think she's here. Oh my god, I hate her with a passion. Only person in this world who I cannot stand, you know? I'm sure you guys have heard of her...she's the bitch who started a fight in the cafeteria last year over a deck of cards...you know that huge-ass food fight? Four people got suspended?" 

Adam shivered with disgust. He hated that bitch, for reasons that only he would know. Sighing, he sat against the wall, and listened.

"Yeah, she was sick today, wasn't she? She wasn't at school or on the plane, so I doubt you'd have the chance Adam." Alan replied, just noticing Adam had dozed off.

Hawley shrugged, personally if he had to make the comment. He found August better looking than Helena, August didn't cake on make-up like her friend did, so you saw _her_ instead of a mask.

As Adam began talking the red head found himself watching him, smirking at the older man's words. He could lightly remember the girl he spoke of... but had personally never encountered her. And he didn't remember the food fight, remembered hearing about it but not seeing it. After all, to avoid those bastards that tormented him he had taken to eating his lunch on the roof during that time. Hearing Alan he sighed, "Too bad, she sounds like she would have been fun to kill. Though I have to admit, Helena was quite a fun one herself. Tried to run after I got her in the gut, then I got her leg... and then..." He mused, taking a hand and making the form of a gun and pointing it at his head. "Bang, right through the forehead."

"Must've felt good to see her beg for her life and then taking it." Alan mused; almost impressed by the way Helena had been murdered.

Hawley gave an annoyed sound as he leaned back in spot, "Ha. I wish she had begged, that would have made the kill all the sweeter. But she didn't --" He said going over the memory in his head; his first murder was still clear as day to him. And that smile she gave him was what stuck the most.

"She just smiled at me..."

"Defiant to the end. Must've still felt pretty damn good. I have to admit, it took guts for her to smile at the person killing her. I would've cursed you, but that's just me." Alan said in a slightly joking manner.

"Ah, that sounds better than a bloody smile..." He mused, hand finding his throat as he touched the discolored skin forming the scar there. His father had wanted him to do something to fix them so they go away...

His mother had decided it be better to do nothing, show him a reason that he was destroying his body.

But... Hawley had questioned many times before, what was the point of keeping something nice on the outside when the inside was dark, and dead.

"How in hell did you survive getting your throat cut? That's usually lethal." Alan asked, a bit confused.

"Didn't cut deep enough, well didn't get the chance. One of my older brothers came in and stopped me before I had the chance to go any further. After that my mother put me in a mental hospital... she figured it be best for me." Hawley explained, leaning back once again.

"Made me hate the world, and all those who had wronged me more."

"Parents almost always fuck things up when they try to help." Alan commented, thinking on his own parentage. "Y'know, I bet my father's watching this on TV as we speak."

"Mine probably haven't even noticed I'm gone." Hawley said, moving the shirt off the gunshot wound in his arm. And placing it down beside him, pushing the sleeve of the long black shirt up, showing off even more old scars from failed suicide attempts as he pushed the fabric up. Getting a good look over it... "For a bad shot, and something so small it stings like hell." After cleaning away the blood, and anything else about the wound. Hawley went to wrapping it up in what bandages he had left in his medical kit, once finished he reached up to touch the wound on his head. His whole body twitching lightly in the slight pain.

His two-toned eyes lifted to find himself looking over his two 'allies.' Hawley couldn't help but laugh at the thought, him with allies? It wasn't going to happen... he would have to rid himself of these two sooner of later. One way or another...

Alan decided to break the silence by brining up survival.  
"We should get moving. If we stay too long, we'll risk this place being a Danger Zone with us in it. Unless either of you _wants_ to have your neck blown open."

Hawley shot him a look, yeah, it would make sense to move out of the hospital. When it became a danger zone... what was the point of leaving a decent strong-hold when there wasn't a point to it.

But whatever... this place was getting boring.

"Fine, we'll leave in the morning. It's getting dark no point going out when we can't see anything, and anyway it gives me time to get all the good medicine packed."

"Alright, 'till morning." Alan said, laying down on the floor and closing his eyes.

He nodded his head slowly, hopping off the counter and starting to open each cabinet. Undoing his bag and pushing everything that would work, and wasn't outdated.

Once finished he took a hold of both his weapons as he slide onto the ground, holding the shotgun close to his chest as he lightly closed his eyes.


End file.
